To be a tourist right now in Paris is a surreal, sobering experience. To be a tourist in the 10th arrondissement is devastating. My husband and I have been staying here for the past week: I’m in town to attend the Airbnb Open (which has since been canceled, along with all sporting events, and Paris Photo, the international photography event scheduled to take place this weekend), and my husband tagged along, happy to be in Paris for the very first time. As part of the Open, many attendees were put up in local Airbnbs, and ours is in the 10th, on a quietly busy street filled with cafés, well-stocked boutiques, and, anachronistically, a small American-style diner named Holybelly, which serves a charming Frenchified version of pancakes and scrambled eggs with bacon.

Today, like many businesses, Holybelly is closed. As my husband and I walked through the neighborhood earlier, we took note of the spots—a tiny store selling local designers, a coffee shop we had enjoyed a few days ago—that we had hoped to visit on this, our last day in Paris, before the violence that overtook the city last night changed everything. Crossing the Canal St. Martin, the streets become more crowded, and the intersection of Rue Bichat and Rue Alibert, where gunmen fired on patrons at Le Petit Cambodge and Le Carillon, is currently filled with reporters, cameramen, and locals, many in tears and many bearing flowers to leave on the sidewalks, which are still covered in sand—an overwhelming reminder of the blood spilled less than 24 hours ago. President Hollande has announced three days of national mourning, and the state of emergency declared last night remains in effect. All eight men who are believed to have carried out the attacks have been killed, though it is unclear if they worked with accomplices. Unclear why they did it.

Those businesses in the 10th and 11th that are open are filled with people, and an atmosphere of the most heartbreaking type of camaraderie can very much be felt. As we walked, we passed Myrthe, a small sandwich shop and grocery one block over from where the restaurant shootings took place. One of the owners—Laura, she told us—waved us inside and explained that she would be happy to make us a sandwich, but asked that we give her a few minutes, as her bread delivery didn’t come this morning, meaning she would have to run down the block to buy an armful of baguettes. As we waited, neighbors gathered on the sidewalk, checking in with one another, offering condolences and expressing shock at what we now know are the worst attacks on the city since World War II. Like all terrorist attacks, it is almost too unbearable to fathom, too cruel to put into words. The only ones we found to say to Laura as we hugged her and left her shop are the ones we’ll be repeating until we fly home to New York: Nous sommes tellement désolés.